10000 5/8

        The glances around us became consumed with more concern as Chase finished his depressing rant. I had to respond strongly or I was fairly certain Chase was going to take his life right then and there. The stakes could never be higher.


        “Chase, life is like a choose your own adventure game. There is many paths that you can take. There’s dark futures. There’s bright futures. But you’re never confined to one narrative. You don’t have to hate yourself, because you can change yourself. And I know this sounds cliche, but you are truly looking for a permanent solution, in a temporary problem. We’ll all go off to college soon, and that’s when you can change your narrative. That’s your moment to choose your path, and pick your adventure. Life doesn’t stop in high school. The path’s only get wider and more decisive. You have plenty of time to change it, don’t stop now. I didn’t come with you to this party to gain pity points. I came with you because I saw myself in you. I saw the insecurity, search for identity, and pain in your unbroken eyes. You gave me hope in myself, I hope in what I could be, never forget that. You are Chase Lentil.”


Chase stood there for a second holding back his tears and staring at me in the quivering October wind. I felt his shutters a mile away with his pride in his fists. He escaped from the crowd to the smaller side of the roof in the back where nobody was at and presumably he jumped off. I don’t know if he killed himself, or landed on his feet and ran away. I like to think he ran away due to the size of the roof but I had no time to contemplate as kids were sprinting full fledged with the presence of cops arriving only a few moments later. Ryan, Miranda, Veronica, and I got away safely at a nearby IHop but I heard from Veronica that the triplets weren’t so lucky and ended up with three identical minor in possession tickets. Veronica called us a regular sized Uber back to Veronica’s house and passed out on the couches.







Journal Entry 265
Axel Martin
11/20/2016
10:01PM
Crush.
        At the party, I felt something raw. Something that hit me like a semi-truck in the middle of an empty road at a forgotten forest. It was the emotion of Miranda making out with that football player. My mind and my heart felt polarized when taking the incident in context with our infamously platonic relationship to Miranda. I felt embarrassment progress to anger and then to sadness that night. But why did I feel this way? The dynamic between Miranda and I feels the same as it was since we were 10, and surely she’s had boyfriends or boys in her life that didn’t make me feel as strong as it does now. Since the party on Halloween, I avoided her every attempt to hangout. I think she’s starting to know the real reason why I’ve been avoiding her. Do I even know, though? I’m not entirely convinced, that I have feelings for Miranda. But I know my heart has been hurting after I saw her with that football player. Maybe it was the feeling I felt after defending her honor against another football player objectifying her, and then subsequently proving him right. Making me look like a clown in return. That conclusion might be a little unfair to Miranda. She has a right to makeout with anybody she wants to. I’m not her Dad. Who am I to say her making out with that boy justified the sexist comments of some football player. Good for her, maybe she found a good guy. All while Veronica expressed some sort of feelings for me while she was drunk. Veronica is considered to look way better than Miranda anyway, why should I be worried about Miranda? Although, I can’t say clearly either way about that. Veronica was one, pretty drunk and two, extremely vague. The triplets telling me that Veronica “wants me” was pretty ambiguous. I mean, she was in need and I am her best friend. She probably wanted me because she needed help navigating through a pretty messed up night. At the same time though, when I saw her it seemed like she wanted to kiss me. Until we were interrupted by Chase’s event. If I told myself back in eighth grade that Veronica wanted to kiss me, I’d probably check myself into a mental hospital. Now, it actually was a possible reality. Maybe this is what  Chase was talking about, my life might be great. Speaking of Chase, where has he been? I haven’t seen him since the party. Rumors are he moved out of town to escape the suicide scare that happened on Halloween. I say good for him. Feeling ashamed is good. Means he still cares about life.


Fin
Axel Martin
12:26 PM




It’s a Family Affair
        Usually the day before Thanksgiving, Veronica hosts a “Friendsgiving” where we give each other gifts and eat dinner at Veronica’s house. This year, I told them I couldn’t attend. The truth was, I didn’t really want to. I felt too annoyed at Miranda, and for the whole month it has been awkward between Veronica and I. After Veronica invited the triplets to fill the void I left, Ryan opted out of Friendsgiving too. We spent our Friendsgiving watching The Godfather series at my house and eating Jet’s Barbeque Chicken Pizza.


        “You know, Miranda really misses talking to you,” Ryan chirped up randomly.


        I stared at the screen for a little bit before I responded to Ryan.


        “We still talk,” I said blandly.


        “That’s not true,” Ryan said.


        I didn’t say anything this time.


        “I think you’re doing this because of Miranda kissing that dude at the party,” Ryan inferred.


“So what if it was, it doesn’t matter. I’m not her boyfriend,” I said stiffly.


“That’s not fair to her Axel, if you like her you need to just tell her,” Ryan said raising his voice.


“I never said I liked her,” I said quickly.


“It seems like it! You’ve been ducking your feelings for her since middle school,” Ryan said.


“Since when are you so interested in my love life,” I snarked.


“I’m not. You’re just being selfish. You’re ruining our friend group,” Ryan snapped.


“Oh really, is that right now. I’m the one who’s ruining our friend group,” I said facetiously.


“Yes Axel, you are. Look at yourself! Distancing yourself from us because you’re too afraid to be a man and admit how you feel to Miranda,” Ryan said.


“Well you’re here now, aren’t you? Talk about distancing, you’re never around anymore! You are always at baseball. Baseball this, baseball that.  It feels like you’re a stranger to me,” I replied.


“Are you genuinely trying to compare my SPORT to your unfair grudge that you’re holding against Miranda,” Ryan questioned.


“Who do you think you are? Sure, you do your little sport. I am a fucking national award winning poet. I’m not bragging but at least I don’t sit around with my idiot jock friends all day doing nothing but talking about sports in replace of the friends that actually have been there for me,” I yelled.


Ryan stood up abruptly and gave me a hard look up and down.


“You need help, Axel. When you get your shit together then maybe text me. I’ll be at Veronica’s… where you SHOULD be,” Ryan said as he stormed out the front door.


I finished the movies by myself, until my mom came in with her wine glass and told me that we were going to my grandma’s house.


“Do I have to? She’s coming over tomorrow anyway,” I pleaded.


She took a quick glance around my room and noticed the empty pizza box and ice cream cartons in the room.


“Well… it looks like you’re not doing anything particularly important. I think it might good for you to go,” she observed.


        “Well… if I have to,” I joked.
       
        I got up and brushed the pizza crumbs off my shirt. I knew I had a choice. My mom didn’t force me to do much in life. But usually her advice often proved to be the best decisions I’ve made.


        We got in the car at around 6, and it took us about an hour to get to my grandma’s house. She lived in a secluded area that she shared with my grandfather before he died. I always wondered if she felt lonely by herself in the middle of nowhere. I certainly would. But she always seemed preoccupied when we walked in the door, almost as a front to mask her loneliness. Today was no different, when we walked into the door she was half vacuuming, half dancing to music she had blaring in the background. I have to admit, for an 82 year old woman, she sure had some moves.


        “Well look who it is, my adorable family,” my grandma exclaimed cheerfully.


        “Hi grandma,” I said with a smile.


        “You look famished young man, come eat,” she said.


        “I actually just ate pizza grandma,” I assured her.


        “Pizza? No, no, no. That’s not a proper meal. I keep trying to tell you kids that. What has Patricia been feeding you,” she lectured.


        “Mom…,” my mom said while blushing.


        There’s some kind of weird beautifulness about an old white woman born in the 1930s that looks at her undeniably black grandson with love. I wondered if she ever expected something like this in her 20’s. Probably not. Apparently she never had anything against black people like most of her peers did. Which makes sense because she adored my father. My mom’s grandparents however hated black people and often referred to them as “niggers” which is to be expected I guess. They died before they had a chance to condemn my mother’s interracial marriage. It’s just interesting how that none of the hate from her parents ever stuck with my grandma.


We all sat down at the dinner table and marveled at my grandma’s ham, ribs, macaroni and cheese, green beans, and mashed potatoes. The meal was going well until my grandma brought up my dad. It was odd that she felt so close to him even after he left. You’d think she would hate him for breaking her daughter’s heart.


“So Patricia, have you read Stephen’s new book,” my grandma asked.


My mom’s eyes never left her plate and chewed on only waiting a few moments before answering.


“I have not,” my mom said.


“Well, I think you should… it’s very well written and it’s very interactive with the reader,” my grandma elaborated.


“Oh, that’s great for him,” my mom said still not looking up.


My grandma turned to me and asked if I ever read my dad’s books.


“Can’t say I have,” I admitted.


“Axel, I want you to have something,” she said as she got up to go in her room and retrieve something.


She came back with a old dusty poem book labelled “Dreams” the author was Stephen Allen. My mom’s eyes finally peered up from her plate.


“This was your dad’s first book, Axel. It was a book of over 200 poems,” she said.


I took the book from her, and held it like it was the first dinosaur fossil ever discovered. 


“Thanks Mom… but no thanks, we have too much junk lying around the house,” my mom interrupted.


“Yeah… she’s right. I don’t know if I should take this,” I said giving my grandmother back the book.


I never saw more sorrow in her eyes. She stood next to her chair in a cold silence. So many questions filled my head in that instant. What was in the book? Why’d my grandmother keep my abandoned dad’s book? Why won’t my mom let me read?


“Oh okay…,” my grandma said depleted from her efforts.


“I’m going to go out and do some errands. I’ll be right back,” my mom said as she got up and emptied her plate in the trash.


My grandma and I watched her leave out the window to what seemed to be an eternity. All the plates were put up and we stared out the window for a second before my grandma spoke up.


“Have you tried meeting your dad, Axel,” my grandma asked me quietly.


“No,” I responded.


“Your mother carries a lot of angst against Steve,” she said.


“Yeah, with good reason,” I said matter-of-factly.


“Maybe. But a child should meet his father. I can see the hatred for him in your heart. It’s eating you apart,” she said carefully.


“Grandma, I appreciate the concern but my feelings towards him are very minimal,” I said earnestly.


“Well, maybe that’s not right. I think you could learn a lot from him. You remind me of him. You too were just alike. Smart, calm-minded, and well spoken,” she reminisced.


“Really? I remind you of him? That’s interesting,” I said curiously.


“Yes, where do you think all that poetry of yours came from? The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, and you’re no exception. I tried to convince your mother to try and reconnect with him when you were little. But she always became defensive when I prompted the idea. She didn’t even want to get child support or legally divorce him. Technically, your mother is still married to you father,” she told me.


“Why would she not file for divorce after he left us,” I asked.


“She said she didn’t want to be bothered with it. I think the real truth is that she secretly didn’t want to lose her ties to Stephen. He was a good guy. With a good heart too… he was just… confused,” she said.


“Confused? What does that mean grandma,” I asked.


This time she did not reply. Instead, her eyes squeezed together and she reached out. I think she was having a stroke. I called 911 as soon as I could but it was too late. Her lifeless eyes were staring back at me as I cried and waited for medical help to come. The moment felt tender but dark and sad. My mom came and picked me up promptly after a medical staff took my grandma from the house. We stayed up all night reminiscing alone eating cookie dough ice cream. The next day on Thanksgiving was short and stale. We ate, and went to sleep. Nothing felt fun anymore. Rest in peace, Grandma.

Axels poetry and short narrative stories 2500 words

Forever and Ever
Axel Martin


“‘Maybe...you'll fall in love with me all over again.’”
“‘Hell," I said, "I love you enough now. What do you want to do? Ruin me?’"
‘“Yes. I want to ruin you.’"
“‘Good," I said. "That's what I want too.’”










“Who said that,” the girl asked sheepishly.


“Ernest Hemingway, in his book, Farewell to Arms,” I replied.


The lake appeared stagnant on the hilltop beneath the trees. Intimacy between Rae and I felt vibrant as ever while the Sunday summer sun rested on her pulsating radiant skin.


“Oh I know him! My father used to read his poems to me before he passed,” she reminisced.








        Her plain expressions refused to acknowledge the immense sorrow that has inflicted her over the years.


        “Well your father sounds like a phenomenal person,” I said at an attempt of sympathy.








        “He was, meaning not anymore, your average dad... at best. Don’t try and patronize me for losing him. He’s dead. It’s life. It happens,” she said in resentment.


        “Rae, I didn’t mean to patronize you… I just knew how much he meant to you, that’s all,” I pleaded.


        Her face turned from fierce embarrassment to soft vulnerability as her face was embellished with sharp tears. She reached for my arm in compulsion.








        “I miss him, Ari. I think about him every damn day. He was the only person that loved me unconditionally,” she sobbed.


        “You’ll see him again one day. But for now, you have to be strong okay? That’s what he would have wanted,” I said emphatically.








        Rae has a chameleon-like presence when it comes to her emotions. But I see right through that. I see a person who has been hurting like an injured mother buck protecting her three young children on a busy road. Plagued by adversity, but too prideful to accept help. Or, maybe it was fear. Fear of getting hurt again.


        “Rae, I’m not your father, and I never will be… but I love you, and for as long as I am alive, I will always love you,” I said without hesitation.








        “Ari, I don’t know what to say, I… I....” she stuttered seamlessly.
        
        She leaned over from her side of the towel we shared, overwhelming me with beauty. Milky grey clouds replaced the eye blinding sun creating a grey atmosphere that perfectly contrasted with her popping luminescence. She glared at my beating oblivious soul with tempestuous keen eyes.






        “I love you too,” she said, mirroring my confidence.


        She reached through her back pocket for what could be… chocolate? A love note? A gift..? All in contrary to what it was, a knife. A knife with a blade sharper than the stairs to hell. She wrapped her arms around me as she stabbed me six times in the back. Her hands melted inside of me as she wept.
        
















        “Now, we will always and forever have each other,” she said, in infinity.










grass isn't greener
Axel Martin


 The formalities of your body are merely supplementary to the nature of your grace. 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am no adequate man. 
My heart pays no fair price.

Through love or through lust, 
my lack of treasure is twofold.


With my soul in poverty, 
you struck me a chance. 


Gave hope in flight, 
when I could not stand.


Your love for me is hard to know.


What's a diamond to a dog,
What's a fish to a frog?


We infer a touch.
We know no such.




Until one day we leave, 
and it all comes at once.






Cycle
Axel Martin


You said you wouldn't go back.
----------------------------------- But, you did.


Did he cast a spell on you?


Did he hold you at gunpoint?


I'm not mad at you, and for the most part— I understand.


I truly do.


Manipulative people are manipulative for a reason.


Just tell me,


what does he provide that overrides his quoted, narcissism, selfishness, and jealousy?


Though my words speak hostility,


I genuinely want you to know


the end of the tunnel
doesn't
stop
in darkness.


Camphor Tree
Axel Martin


hey, have u heard of the old man and the camphor tree?


have you heard of him?
the old man who goes outside
to pray under his camphor tree.
he goes outside every day
and every eleventh day he sees an angel.
nobody can hear,
see,
nor smell the angel.
only the old man knows the angel.
many have doubted the angel’s existence.
many have labeled him crazy.
many have avoided him.
however, the old man continues to pray.
on one serendipitous summer afternoon,
a curious woman joined the old man.
the old man wasn't bothered by the visitor,
nor was the old man intrigued.
the unknown woman calmly asked,
“when will i see the angel?”
the old man didn't acknowledge her.
angered, the woman raised her voice.
“you're a fraud! there is no angel!”
the old man slowly turned to face his angered visitor.
the old man smiling, pointed at the tree,
“i have been out here for fifteen, now sixteen years.”
the old man rose up facing away from the camphor tree,
“the angel has never appeared”
“until you came”
“on the eleventh day of the eighth month, during the sixteenth year.”








she loves me, she loves me not
Axel Martin


you said the things that made my ears warm


the type of affirmation that assured my unhinged mind.
i couldn't explain it
i didn't want to.
i only wanted your unwavering commitment
but that's foreign to you.
you simply didn't understand how to love.
and i can't blame you.
nobody ever stayed long enough to show you.
so you made your own happy ending
your own narrative.
i was the villain
and he was the savior.
i was too late
and he was right there.
the night swept you
so off you went
in hopeless void
to imaginary wind.
then, suddenly i see you
floating in abyss


realizing just how
shallow you've been.






Breathless
Axel Martin
I wish I could sing
So I can hum to a Canary
And relieve the pain
To whisk away
Great faults I claim
In this dangerous world
Full of trial and conviction
I lived an eternity
But my sentence isn’t finished.


________________




What difference makes different?
When fake is fiction
Love is pain
Healing is addiction.


They’re all the same,
No matter the smile
No matter the face
No matter the promise
No matter the place.


I love you
But you make me feel numb
The seeds in the air
Make the sky turn blue
Me seeing you
Makes me see two


________________




I wish I could sing
And deliver this message
Until that day
I’ll look for you...
Breathless.






hopeless romantic
Axel Martin


My favorite game as a child was chase.
Our version contained the natural elements, person A tries to run from person B.
However, this game had a stipulation.
If person A got caught, person B was warranted to give person A a kiss.
This caveat only applied to my female counterpart and I.
Although I wanted to maintain the integrity of the game,
the prospect of receiving a kiss was tantalizing.
I was very much capable of escaping this girl every single time I stepped foot on the playground,
but I needed to know if she would really kiss me.
I needed to know if she liked me too or if she was just playing the game.
Maybe, if I let myself get caught, I’d see for sure.
A guaranteed answer, to my troubling question.
But I couldn’t do it.
I was too afraid.
Afraid that she wouldn’t kiss me,
and I’d know the truth for sure, her true intentions.
One day I had miscalculated my path.
I found myself in a circular play-structure, where the entrance is the exit as well.
She had finally won.
She captured me.
I was stuck.
I couldn’t run.
I couldn’t hide.
I couldn’t think.
I had to face not her,
but my fears.
Whether she liked me or was she just playing with me.
I mean, the game.
She took three steps towards me…
I closed my eyes,
and she popped a kiss right on my cherry chapstick covered lips.
She leaned away and looked at me.
I took the cringe out of my face
and grinned wider than I ever have.
She smiled back and ran away to the recess bell.
        Today, I still run, I still hide, I still contemplate, but now it’s not kisses. It’s love. I run and run until there’s nowhere left to go, and I look the recipient of my love in the face hoping they love me. However, the same hopeful ending in elementary doesn’t occur… I don’t get that kiss. I get the painful realization that they don’t care, they don’t want me, they don’t love me. They were just playing the game of chase all along.




high
Axel Martin
\\
i can't do this
...
i'm with the wind,
i'm through the sky,
i'm in the air.
...
floating tall,
but not far.
moving fast,
but not quick.
...
sometimes i cry
...
i am sad
[...]
i am happy
...
i close my eyes
and dream about you.
...
at the park,
by the lake.
...
we're in the air,
we're through the sky,
we're with the wind.
...
we can do this.
//
Axel Martin
high






I am the Abuser.
Axel Martin


Your naive character ambiguously taunted my narcissistic mannerisms, enabling the snake that internally resides to slither through conversation with ease.
I listened, I learned.
More, I begged.
You felt the comfort, privileging, as nothing seemed to matter more besides you, and the sun that rules your earth.
Peace eclipsed your heart and let out an euphoric feeling, beyond plastic relief.
My illusion that I have curated, is working with immunity.
Nothing I say nor do can be rationed in the same sentence as wrong.
You are mine now.
Like the rest, you are under my control.
The light is absent, and your functionality is futile.
Now submit to me in eternity, and accept your fate.




i'm paranoid 
Axel Martin


my fears have manifested into illusions of deceit by those from a dreadful past.
i see you in living color though, you're different.
i can see you've been through it too.
the pain.
the sorrow.
the pending sense of doom as you eye those pills.
our heart,
we view it as... repairable
but the beats to my livelihood are only complementary to your presence.
i gave you too many tools 
but i thought you were my mechanic 
a savior
the one.
granted, you were never real though.
only a manifestation of fears to illusions from a dreadful past.










Cycle part 2
Axel Martin


Every night,
it's the same windswept song. 
However, 
my love for you swells.
You put me in havoc,
then console me so well, i forget you scar me.
Your manipulation is unique to classical love.
The tactic of build and destroy is malign, 
putting my head through an array of mind games. 
Then you offer an ice pack that convinces me you heal all wounds.
Your abuse knows no bounds,
but your affection is unwavering.


Love that'll never end.








You're my Valentine, Satan.
Axel Martin


I submitted to you by the complex laws of love. As passion eclipsed our bodies with beauty, I searched for my invidious utopia inside the pitfalls of your hibiscus. My masculinity goes unquestioned by the soothing cries assuring the innocence we so desperately cling to. The absence of light sparked the greatest flame by Prometheus himself. 
-
Our love is a dark love, indeed. Fueled by jealousy and envy, cooperating and functioning at its apex. I distance myself periodically to balance not having you and the dark that inherently makes up our love in my trivial meaningless life. Anger and insecurity is a result of the painfully inescapable calamity effecting us beyond comprehension. 
But, at the end of the day,
I crawl back 
Dance my words around your ears
And hold you like none other...


You're my Valentine, Satan.








Intertwined
Axel Martin


Bitter and Distressed,
 I float to your calming words to mellow the storm. 
Thorns among Roses,
 I cling to the belief that I will be relieved of this curse filled void that is alive inside me. 
Death is surely an easy way to go. 
Free of Fear. 
Free of Anger. 
Free of Sadness. 
Free of Free. 
The thought crosses my mind as often as not. 
Sizing the belt up against my throat. 
I feel the waves of emotion. 
Good. Bad. Irregular. 
I imagine the distraught face of you by the occurrence of my passing. 
You and Death. 
Intertwined.